"So far as they go, I suppose so," said Lois. "O yes, they are pleasant things; and good things, if they are used right."
"They are whether or no. Come! I can't have you holding any extravagant ideas, Lois. They don't do in the world. They make one peculiar, and it is not good taste to be peculiar."
"You know, I am not in the world," Lois answered quietly.
"Not when you are at home, I grant you; but here, in my house, you are; and when you have a house of your own, it is likely you will be. No more coffee, my dear? Then let us go to the order of the day. What is this, Williams?"
"For Miss Lot'rop," the obsequious servant replied with a bow,—"de bo-quet." But he presented to his mistress a little note on his salver, and then handed to Lois a magnificent bunch of hothouse flowers. Mrs. Wishart's eyes followed the bouquet, and she even rose up to examine it.
"That is beautiful, my dear. What camellias! And what geraniums! That is the Black Prince, one of those, I am certain; yes, I am sure it is; and that is one of the new rare varieties. That has not come from any florist's greenhouse. Never. And that rose-coloured geranium is Lady Sutherland. Who sent the flowers, Williams?"
"Here is his card, Mrs. Wishart," said Lois. "Mr. Caruthers."
"Tom Caruthers!" echoed Mrs. Wishart. "He has cut them in his mother's greenhouse, the sinner!"
"Why?" said Lois. "Would that be not right?"
"It would be right, if—. Here's a note from Tom's mother, Lois—but not about the flowers. It is to ask us to a luncheon party. Shall we go?"